Page 94 of The Gaybor War

"I'm still gathering evidence."

Benji laughs and turns it up slightly. I leave it.

His eyebrows shoot up. "Really?"

"I'm choosing peace."

"Wow, that’s personal growth."

"Don't ruin it."

He begins to hum along, tapping his foot to the beat. Unfortunately, he has a nice voice. I discover this against my will.

I catch him watching me out of the corner of my eye—amused, smug, entirely too pleased with himself—and I realize this is how it’s going to go. Not silence. Not polite conversation.

This.

Music wars, commentary, shirt-based provocations, and a man who considers irritation a love language.

The first hour passes surprisingly quickly. The music war settles into an uneasy truce. He plays something ridiculous. I play something boring. He mocks me. I mock him.

We establish a ceasefire somewhere outside the city. He steals one of my emergency granola bars.

"Did you seriously pack twelve of these?"

"I planned."

"You planned for a natural disaster."

"I planned for you."

He pauses and smiles. "Oh."

The smile does something unpleasant to my pulse, and I stare harder at the road.

"You know," he drums his fingers against his thigh, "for a man who pretends to hate fun, you’re very good at road trips."

"I don’t hate fun."

"You hate my fun."

"That’s different."

We stop for lunch when hunger starts making both of us argumentative. The restaurant is one of those places that can't decide whether it's a diner or a bistro.

Benji studies the menu as if he's reading one of his romance novels.

"This sandwich sounds emotional."

"It's corned beef."

"Listen to this description." He clears his throat. "'Tender brisket piled high with house-made slaw and tangy mustard aioli. It reads like foreplay. I can taste it already. Or do I want the bread pudding with a side of fruit? Creamy and sweet, but sensible."

I decide to pretend to ignore him, but I have to reach under the table to readjust myself. The food arrives. It's good. Conversation gets easier.

Work. Travel. His latest impossible HOA feud. My brother. His college roommate who accidentally joined a roller derby team because he thought it was a networking event.

By dessert, we're both relaxed enough that neither of us notices until it's already happened.